


Every Dog His Day

by linguamortua



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Bad Decisions, Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Power Play, Public Blow Jobs, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 08:52:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17546513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua
Summary: 'Lewis, if you need work, I promise you I will find you something to do around here.'Slightly canon-divergent fic in which Billy Russo does indeed find something for Lewis to do. It's not what Lewis expected, but he's determined to make a good impression.





	Every Dog His Day

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation or excuse for this. You'll recognise the first pieces of dialogue from the show; it diverges after Billy offers Lewis a job.

‘Wilson! Can I have a word?’

Mr Russo called, and every cell in Lewis’ body responded. He stood mechanically and walked over, back straight and gaze level. He hadn’t felt this great in weeks. Fully inhabiting his body, all his senses sharp. Every task he’d been asked to perform today had been carried out, he knew, perfectly. Curtis had been dead wrong about him; about everything. He took ease in front of Russo, admiring, not for the first time, the man’s suit and his demeanour and his empire.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘It’s Lewis, right?’ He stuck out his hand, and Lewis took it, hoping his own palm wasn’t sweating. He noticed now that Russo was surprisingly tall; much taller than Lewis himself.

‘Sir.’

‘What’s with the foxhole in your back yard, Lewis?’ Russo was walking and Lewis was following, so he didn’t have to look the man in the eye as he asked. It still hit Lewis like a punch in the gut. He took a long breath in through his nose, wondering what to say.

‘What do you mean?’ He knew he was lying and it felt bad.

‘Well I gotta know what’s going on with all my guys. Lives depend on it.’ Russo’s gaze was boring into Lewis. ‘You know?’ he prompted.

‘I was, uh,’ said Lewis. He drew a shuddering breath. ‘A project.’ That wasn’t all the way true either. ‘Something to keep me busy.’

‘And what do you figure the other guys would think? If I told them that the guy watching their backs was living like that?’

‘It’s nothing, sir,’ said Lewis, his hopes slipping away from him. Russo looked so calm, but he was asking questions that twisted Lewis up inside. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Listen,’ said Russo. ‘This business, it’s all based on trust.’

Lewis felt sick. The back of his throat was burning, and he knew that if he looked in a mirror now he would see that his eyes were starting to go red. He always looked like he was about to cry before it happened. His mom used to say it was because he was so fair, and she knew that because she was the same way. She’d say that when he came home from school early because the other kids were tormenting him. Lewis used to beg them to stop. It never worked. He tried it with Russo anyway.

‘Please don’t do this.’

‘I’m sorry, man. I can’t take the risk.’ Russo sounded genuinely sorry. That made it worse. It meant that Lewis really was a fuck up. Lewis rubbed his face on his sleeve, trying to make it look like he was scratching an itch and not drying his eyes.

‘Was this Curtis?’

‘I gotta check up on all our prospects. It’s got nothing to do with Curtis.’

‘Are you saying it wasn’t him?’ Lewis had spoken too loudly and he knew it. The anger was rising up in him. The more agitated he became, the calmer Russo was. Like he was handling a dangerous dog. Or a small and petulant child.

‘I’m saying that it doesn’t matter.’

‘I don’t believe you. He tells me not to come here, then he spikes me.’

‘Easy,’ said Russo, sounding dangerous himself. ‘I don’t know you, kid. Curtis Hoyle, he saved my ass on more than one occasion. He’s one of the best men I ever had the good fortune of serving with. Lewis, if you need work, I promise you I will find you something to do around here.’

Lewis wet his lips with his tongue and shuffled his weight from foot to foot. Russo had pulled him over especially to talk to him. He checked up on his guys. Lewis was one of his guys. Could continue to be. If he had to pick, he would want to be one of Russo’s guys, not one of Curtis’. What the fuck had Curtis ever done for him? Lewis swallowed his pride.

‘What… what kind of work?’ he asked. Russo shrugged, looked off at the other guys around the weight rack for a minute and then came back to Lewis.

‘Your fitness level’s good. Well done—shows discipline. I could use that here. We’ve got great gym facilities.’

‘So like… a fitness instructor?’ Lewis asked, hopefully.

‘In time,’ said Russo bluntly. Lewis couldn’t meet his gaze. Then Russo cuffed him on the bicep. ‘Walk with me.’ They crossed the floor and walked back through the lobby, where Lewis had arrived this morning full of hopes that were now half-dashed. Russo led him to an elevator and swiped his card, taking them up several floors in a quiet rush. He was wearing cologne that was only detectable in the closeness of the elevator. It was subtle. Lewis appreciated that. He couldn’t count the number of fares he got where the passenger just stank up his car with their bargain basement scent.

The elevator came to a smooth stop and they got out. Lewis trailed Russo, a pace or two behind, as they walked the length of a long gallery. Floor to ceiling glass let them see every inch of the training facilities.

‘Wow,’ said Lewis inarticulately, because from here he could see that Anvil was more than a flat, open indoor quad with some gym equipment with a lobby and some offices attached. There was a gym with a running track and a full-size pool. There was a huge network of little rooms and hallways with removable walls and cameras. Right now, a dozen black-clad members of an assault team were progressing through a training exercise. Russo watched them for a moment, head cocked to one side. Then he looked at Lewis, looking at the assault team.

‘Why are you showing me all this?’ Lewis asked finally. He felt like they were right on the edge of a real conversation, and he was impatient for it.

‘Because I want you to think bigger, Lewis.’

‘Bigger than being a soldier.’ The concept didn’t land. Lewis frowned.

‘Yes and no. I think you have untapped talents. In a sense, I think you’d be wasted if I threw you in the first open slot on an assault team.’

‘Curtis thinks I’m fucked up.’

‘Curtis is a steady guy. I mostly trust his judgement.’ The way he said ‘mostly’ gave Lewis an opening.

‘But not this time?’

‘Let’s just say I’m not ready to give up on you just yet.’ He gave Lewis a look full of a sort of rich and sophisticated amusement. Lewis felt warm under his gaze, like he was being included in something important. ‘I don’t go to group either, Lewis.’

God help him, Lewis took the job. It didn’t pay him any more than driving a cab, but at least he got to see sunlight. Besides, even being one step closer to other guys like him felt good. He figured that Mr Russo had picked him out specially, even if it didn’t look like that right now. Maybe if he got his head down and excelled, one day he’d get to ship out again. Be a real soldier again. And, Lewis thought to himself desperately, he’d done a hell of a lot worse in basic than re-racking weights and servicing cardio machines.

Mostly, in the first few days, the guys at Anvil ignored him. Sometimes he’d get a nod or a hello. Never mind that he wore the same gunmetal grey shirt as the rest of them, and took a pay check from Billy Russo just like they did. Never mind that Russo had taken him up to the gallery and told it to him straight, man to man. When he’d told his dad about it all, his dad had nodded and looked serious and squeezed his shoulder. _It sounds like you really made an impression on him, son. Stick with it, and you’ll be up the career ladder in no time._ A lot of the time his dad sounded like an old guy, but this time Lewis really thought they were connecting. It was a little less hard to get up in the morning, anyway.

Curtis tried to call him a couple times, but Lewis hadn’t answered. He hadn’t been back to group, either. In quiet moments, when he was falling asleep or taking a shower, he knew that he wanted to pretend that nothing about the squalid, basement room full of fucked up vets had ever existed. A clean break was the best thing. As if it had all been an accident, like a molly at a party, or a dumb one-night stand.

He was a new man now. Or rather, he was back to being himself, after some inexplicable months in a disorienting wilderness.

A week in, Lewis was working late at six in the evening. He should have been out of there an hour ago, but an assault bike was acting up and they were popular real estate. Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do at home. The last clients had finished up in the training rooms, and there was only one more guy working out. He was over by the free weights, grunting out a final set with kettlebells. As Lewis unscrewed a long line of little fasteners, the guy racked his kettlebell and left, leaving Lewis in blissful silence. Only the faint sound of cardio machines idling as white noise.

Lewis shifted on his hip and angled his wrist so that he could pop off the wheel cover of the bike. It came off first time, and Lewis made a small sound of satisfaction. Russo had been dead right; he _was_ good at this stuff. He’d always been able to fiddle around and fix things, no instruction manual required. Right now he was in the zone, running his hands over all the moving parts in turn and testing their range of motion. He unhooked the red rubber band that hooked on the flywheel and it came off way too easily.

Vibrations in the floor told him someone was walking into the gym before he heard the footsteps. Lewis propped himself up on his elbow and looked around to see who it was.

Billy Russo.

Lewis was suddenly childishly pleased that this was the night he had chosen to stay late. It made him look good. Russo was in fitted, dark grey sweatpants and a tight t-shirt. Not an Anvil shirt. He never wore those, Lewis noticed. They didn’t fit great, if he was honest. Russo didn’t look at him as he crossed the floor to a treadmill and started up an easy jog. His back was to Lewis, who tried to eye him covertly from around the side of his busted assault bike. He tried to figure out if Russo had noticed him when he came in. Maybe not. Lewis was all the way down on the floor, and it wasn’t like his boss was looking for him.

He tried to get on with the job as if nothing was different. It was difficult. Russo kept pace like a metronome, huffing his breath out on every third step. There were no mirrors in the room, and yet Lewis was perversely concerned that he was going to get caught staring. Luckily for his dignity, Lewis didn’t have to hold out for more than ten minutes. The rhythmic pulse of Russo’s feet on the treadmill slowed, and Lewis heard him exhale in one long, cleansing breath. Then the cap on a water bottle popping (Lewis turned a little screw clockwise, not looking), and the sound of Russo’s feet hitting the floor again.

‘Trouble at the old mill?’

Lewis leaned out around the bike on one elbow, as if he’d been lost in his work.

‘Sir?’

‘You don’t have to call me sir, Lewis.’ Russo came over and looked down at him, his water bottle dangling from two fingers. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Just the belt working loose,’ said Lewis with an awkward shrug. ‘It’s just, you have to get all the stuff off to replace the belt, so it takes a while.’

‘Good man,’ said Russo, but Lewis got the impression he didn’t really care. Lewis rolled up his hip and sat, loosely holding his forearms around his knees and waiting patiently. His not to reason why, and all that. Although Russo had only just warmed up, he was starting to sweat a little. As for Lewis, he’d been working hard all day and was under no illusions about how bad he probably smelled. So it was reassuring that he didn’t have to face Russo when he was in one of his expensive suits.

‘Do you always work out down here?’ Lewis asked, immediately cracking. He had certainly never seen Russo down here during the day, so maybe he always avoided his staff and came down late.

‘Sometimes,’ said Russo. ‘When the mood strikes me.’ He leaned over and slotted his water bottle in the holder on the next bike along. ‘Or when there’s something new and interesting in my gym.’ He smiled slowly, looking directly at Lewis. Lewis swallowed. People didn’t usually look at him like that. He wasn’t even sure what _that_ was, or if he was just imagining things. Still, he got his feet under him and stood up slowly, clasping his arms behind his back and cracking his shoulders.

‘Been down there a while,’ he said, by way of explanation. Russo didn’t say anything for a moment, but then he rolled his neck out and stepped a pace closer to Lewis. There was a kind of expression that happened with Russo, where he seemed like he was half-ignoring you and then he suddenly dialled his attention in real sharp and clear. He was very intent on Lewis now. Lewis felt a little like a prey animal caught in a predator’s gaze. It was a new feeling for him, but it wasn’t like he was scared.

‘You married, Lewis?’

‘No?’ said Lewis. It accidentally came out like a question. ‘No,’ he said again, more firmly.

‘Good man,’ said Russo. And then he reached in and ran his thumb along Lewis’ waist, where his stupid grey Anvil shirt had ridden up above his hip bone. Lewis felt his mouth open, but no sound came out. Russo rested his other hand on the seat of the busted assault bike, boxing Lewis in. His fingers made contact, four little points of heat on Lewis’ skin. They flexed, getting a handful of him. And all the while, Russo was looking at him very intently, dissecting him with his gaze.

Lewis had looked at a deer in the same way, figuring out how best to butcher it. Somewhere in the building, a door closed. Lewis jumped and looked around. For the first time, it occurred to him how exposed the gym floor was, and how clear a view a person had from the viewing gallery above.

‘What if someone comes in?’ he said, struggling to form the words because of the way Russo’s hand was gripping his hip.

‘Oh no,’ said Russo, ‘do you think we’ll get in trouble?’ He showed his teeth. ‘What if the boss catches us?’ Lewis blushed horribly.

‘That's funny,’ he said, looking down at the floor and feeling too embarrassed to smile. Russo grabbed his chin with a thumb and two fingers and made him look back up and make eye contact. Lewis tried not to sink into his grasp. Then Russo kissed him, a savage, demanding sort of kiss that Lewis had never experienced before. He even bit Lewis' lip. Not daring to touch Russo, Lewis kissed him back. The intimate slip and breath of someone wanting him was almost unbearable.

Somewhere in the building, someone flipped the master light switch. Everything out in the lobby went dark, and the gym lights turned off too. Only the emergency lighting and the screens on the cardio equipment were on, throwing Russo’s face into a confusing welter of shadows. The long, high windows at the top of the building let in just the faintest trace of orange street light. They both froze for a moment, and then Russo laughed.

‘Get this off,’ he said, tugging up the hem of Lewis’ t-shirt. With a wriggle, Lewis pulled it over his head and deposited it gratefully on the floor. He had no complaints about he looked shirtless, and he looked way better without that shirt. Anyone would look way better without an Anvil shirt on. Russo reached for him. _I gotta know what’s going on with all my guys._ Lewis let him do it.

One of Russo’s hands ended up on his shoulder, right by the join of his neck. Lewis shivered as Russo’s thumb traced the skin along the edge of his shirt. Pressed into the muscle, tight from contorting himself around gym equipment all day. Lewis wanted him to never stop; to do the same thing to the back of his neck, his spine, the hard, unforgiving band of tension between his shoulders. He let his head fall to the side, hoping Russo would take advantage of the long, exposed line of skin. If he could have purred like a cat, he would have.

Then the pressure increased; Russo’s hand, deliberate and firm, over his shoulder. It pushed down and without thinking about it, Lewis knew what was required. A jolt of heat made his knees sag and he let it happen, sliding down Russo’s body until his knees hit the floor with a crack. _Shouldn’t have bothered getting up,_ he thought to himself, the irony not lost on him.

Some of the tension slid out of his shoulders. It was just so good to have someone else make the decisions for him. He’d missed that; the simplicity of it. Lewis knew that he would do just about anything for a person, if only they told him to do it. He didn’t like to think about it much. He didn’t get a lot of dates because of it. But Billy Russo clearly liked that about him. If Billy Russo liked him to follow orders of all kinds, then Lewis would kneel until his knees bled. Some people thought that made a man a pussy, but Lewis knew that it was actually loyalty. All of this passed through his mind very quickly, a slideshow sped up until it was almost unreadable.

Then Russo’s hands were at his own waistband, pulling down his sweatpants. Lewis waited, hardly breathing. He was aware, right in the moment, of his good posture. If there was such a thing as parade rest for a guy on his knees for his boss, Lewis would be nailing it. He watched, rapt, as Russo pulled his cock out, inches from Lewis’ face. Most people would look stupid with their dick hanging out and their pants half-down. Russo made it look like a deliberate choice. He owned that shit, like he did everything else.

Russo ran his thumb over Lewis’ bottom lip and pulled it down, as if he was checking Lewis’ teeth. He slid it along the inside of Lewis’ cheek. It should have felt weird but it was good, somehow. He let Russo lever his teeth apart then, on impulse, sucked on his thumb. Knowing that Russo was watching him do it was almost too much, intense like pressing on a bruise or peeling off a band-aid. Lewis closed his eyes and pressed his thighs together. He was getting hard and wasn’t sure whether to try to stop it, or to just let it happen. Did he look too desperate? It was probably too late to worry about that. Russo took his thumb away and Lewis felt himself leaning forwards a little, not wanting to stop. Immediately then he felt the blunt weight of Russo’s cock against his lower lip, and that was fine, too. He let Russo press it into his mouth.

‘Come on,’ said Russo thickly. His cock bumped the tender expanse of Lewis’ palate, and he tipped his head back a little further to offer Russo all of him. He couldn’t tell how big Russo was. He didn’t care. The icy twist of anxiety that almost always resided in Lewis’ chest these days was melting away. Probably he should feel ashamed, but the shame never materialised.

Against his knees the floor was cold and hard. His shoulders were tired from working all day, lifting and fixing and carrying and making himself generally useful. Lewis leaned into the feelings, just like when he used to have to stand guard duty, or drill, or do some pointless, endless task. If you accepted the discomfort and didn’t try and run away from it, it was easier somehow. Now he accepted his tiredness and his sore knees, and the awkward way he had to hold his jaw. He drank in the dim light and the faint smell of Russo’s aftershave, and the taste of his cock.

Lewis didn’t really know what he was doing, but Russo very clearly didn’t care. It occurred to Lewis that Russo’s excitement was more about having Lewis on his knees than having Lewis blow him with any actual skill. Or at least, Russo had gotten real excited as soon as Lewis was looking up at him. Anyway, it wasn’t like it was difficult. Lewis figured himself for a quick learner, and mostly it was just about keeping his teeth out of the way. He knew what felt good when someone did it to him. All he had to do was make it good for Russo.

The feeling of Russo’s hand on his scalp, and then down the side of his face, made Lewis want to cry. He wanted to lean into Russo’s touch, but there were some places a man had to draw a line. Above him, Russo said something that Lewis couldn’t make out over the wet sound of his mouth on Russo’s cock. It might have been ‘that’s it’ or ‘take it’, or maybe ‘little bitch’. Unable to stop himself, Lewis ground the heel of his hand against his dick. He didn’t have the coordination right now for anything more. He didn’t need anything more. All he needed was the pressure, something to rub off against.

Distantly, he heard himself make an agonised, wanting sound around Russo’s cock. Russo seemed to like that; his hips moved like Lewis’ were moving, in slow rolls. And his palm was sweating against Lewis’ head. Lewis could feel intensely every move Russo made, every twitch and breath and grasp. He dragged his tongue around the head of Russo’s cock, just to see what would happen. Russo’s fingers tightened against his short hair, and his other hand, miraculously, came down to the back of his neck. It caught him right under the hairline and pulled him deeper onto Russo’s dick.

Lewis swallowed and tried to suck in breath through his nose and mouth. He didn’t want to gag. He wanted to do a good job. Above him Russo was breathing raggedly and the hand on Lewis’ neck had disappeared. Didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that Russo was on the edge of coming. Briefly, a panicked thought crossed Lewis’ mind: should he swallow? What would it be like? The extent of his experience was the animal smell of himself beating it in the shower, and a couple of handjobs.

In fact, Russo pulled out right before he came and gripped Lewis’ chin, holding him in place with a grip so tight it hurt. He slid the wet head of his cock over Lewis’ mouth a couple of times. Lewis licked at it mechanically, hardly able to make himself move with coordination. The tight, short huffs of Russo’s breath were right on the edge of getting him off—no, he was there, already there, his balls aching with the need to release. And then he did, rutting against his hand and coming in his pants to the slick, sea-salt feel of Russo’s cock against his tongue. He closed his eyes as it came in waves and moaned, trying not to move.

Russo was jerking himself off; Lewis could feel the brush of his knuckles and the sound of his hand furiously working.

‘Look at me,’ he ordered, and Lewis dragged his eyes open and looked up at his face, past the manicured expanse of his low, flat belly. He was flushed and focused intently on Lewis. If Lewis hadn’t already just come, the way his boss was looking at him would have made him want to.

When he came, he leaned over Lewis, arching his body so that his come landed on Lewis’ face. Lewis’ eyes flickered protectively shut for a moment. His head was spinning and there was a wet, sliding feeling down his cheek. Something about the way the street lights half-illuminated the room made him feel that he was not quite situated in his body, but rather watching at a distance. Like a peep show.

‘Fucking incredible,’ said Russo, almost to himself, looking down at Lewis.  
When Lewis could finally speak again, his voice was hoarse. ‘Feels like I should stay late more often. Put the hours in.’

‘You’ve got promise, kid,’ Russo said, tying the string of his sweatpants with a quick motion. He ran his hand through his hair and blotted his forehead on the sleeve of his t-shirt. ‘I’ll give you that.’ He began to turn away and then hesitated. His hand came out, chucked Lewis under the chin as though he were a dog.

There was no time to say anything else, and nor did Lewis want to. A strange spell was still hanging over him; the surreal aura of Billy Russo picking him out like this. _Does this mean I’m his guy?_ Lewis watched the smooth motion of Russo’s departing back. He grabbed his shirt off the floor and wiped his face with it, then put it back on. The dark stain was wet against his belly. His thoughts raced, high on endorphins. If this was a kind of career purgatory, at least Russo knew who he was. _You have an opportunity to excel,_ he thought to himself, echoing the words of the recruiter who’d signed him on when he was nineteen and still stupid about how the world really worked. Where the real power resided.

Power like Billy Russo’s.

Lewis levered himself up off his knees and walked out the cramp. In the dead silence of the facility, even the air conditioning turned off, he could hear his own shaky breathing. Everything had changed tonight. Before he went home for the night, he carefully replaced the cover on the assault bike. That showed attention to detail. He wasn't going to let himself get distracted.

He just wanted to do a good job.


End file.
